


Hate when you don't answer my calls, buddy

by whitchry9



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: 5+1, Concussions, Drugs, First Aid, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical, Phone Calls, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-22 23:49:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3747742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five time Matt called Foggy for help and one time he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Українська available: [Бісить, коли ти ігноруєш мої дзвінки, чувак](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3851383) by [LaVie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaVie/pseuds/LaVie)



Matt only has two numbers programmed into his burner phone, Claire's and Foggy's. Claire is number one, considering she is the one with the medical knowledge, but when she doesn't pick up (the first or second time he calls), Matt moves to number two.

“Matt,” Foggy answers.

“Hey Foggy. What are you doing?”

Foggy pauses. “...what have you done.”

Matt huffs. “Really, I can't just call my best friend without him thinking I have an ulterior motive?”

“Not from this number you can't.”

Matt pauses. Right. Burner phone.

“Well, if you're not too busy, would you mind coming to pick me up?”

Foggy sighs. “I am a little busy, not like it makes a difference.”

“Great, you're coming then?”

Foggy doesn't reply for a minute, and Matt waits patiently.

“Where are you?” he asks finally.

Matt grins to himself.

“In the park on tenth. Near 47th and 48th.”

“Yeah, I know where the park is Matt. And why can't you just... parkour home or whatever it is that you do?” Foggy mutters.

“I might have broken my ankle,” Matt admits. “Can't tell for sure, but I don't want to risk walking on it. If it's not broken, there's certainly some soft tissue damage.”

Foggy only sighs more deeply. “You're going to wreck my car one of these times Murdock.”

Matt snorts. “Foggy, your car is a piece of crap that is barely hanging together. I know because I can literally hear it falling apart.”

“That doesn't mean you can bleed on her,” Foggy huffs. Matt can hear the jingle of keys in the background.

“I don't think I'm bleeding, so you don't have to worry.” He pauses, and listens for the telltale sign of the car engine starting. “And Foggy?”

“Yeah Matt?”

“Thanks.”

Foggy sighs again, in a way that Matt knows he'll be forgiven, even if he does happen to bleed on Foggy's car. “Yeah, I know. I'll be there soon. Try not to die while you wait okay?”

“I can do that,” Matt agrees.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Matt's not stupid, alright? He knows what he's doing is dangerous, but he also knows that if he doesn't do it, no one else will. But he's also not stupid enough to think that he'll make it through every fight unscathed. And he knows that Claire won't always be there for him, because she has her own life.

So he sends Foggy to a first aid course.

 

It comes in handy a few weeks later when he stumbles home, leaning towards unconsciousness thanks to a lovely head injury inflicted by some sort of tracksuit mobster. Claire's out of town- again? Still? He can't remember with the way his head is spinning- and Foggy is the only other one he can trust.

He dials Foggy while throwing himself on the couch and blinks like it will clear his form of vision. (It really doesn't.)

“Matt?” Foggy answers. He sounds worried. Already. Which was quick for him.

“Foggy!” Matt replies cheerfully. “I have the spins. No... that's not why I called you...” he pauses. He kind of forgot why he called Foggy actually. He does have the spins though. “I told you I could get them though,” he adds.

“What? What happened Matt?”

Oh, right. That. “A mobster in a tracksuit threw a brick at my head,” he says morosely. “It was mean.”

“The fuck have you gotten yourself into,” Foggy mutters, scuffling noises in the background. “Where are you?”

“Home,” Matt sighs.

“Oh my god Matt, you need to stop this. I'm coming now okay. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I think I'm gonna sleep now,” Matt declares. The exhaustion that he's been fighting off for... like, ever pretty much, is making itself very well known.

“Matty-”

“Just let yourself in, kay?” Matt sighs, and presses the end call button before slumping down into the couch.

 

He wakes up on the floor in the recovery position, a blanket covering him, and the wound on his head clumsily wrapped with gauze. His head is throbbing and he still feels dizzy, but it's miles better than it was before.

“How long was I out?” he asks Foggy, who's drinking orange juice in the kitchen.

“It's almost two now,” he replies, walking closer. “You called me last night around one am. But you haven't been out the whole time. I woke you up a bunch just to make sure you weren't dead.” He pauses, his heart beating faster before he speaks again. “I'm not even sure if that's what you're supposed to do with concussions. I didn't learn that much.”

Matt smiles at him.

“CPR though,” Foggy adds. “I can do that if you ever need it, which you had better not, so help me or I will kill you myself.”

Matt grins, rolling his shoulders to ease some of the stiffness out from lying on the floor for twelve hours. “I'll keep that in mind. Nice recovery position though.”

Foggy snorts. “That was pretty much the only other thing I learned. It was pretty basic Matt.”

 

As soon as Matt can stand without nearly throwing up, he grabs his laptop to look into more first aid courses. He sends Foggy to a more advanced one that teaches you what to do for concussions. He hopes it isn't needed.

 


	3. Chapter 3

It's his luck that the very day he needs Claire is the day that her phone is broken. She called him that morning from the hospital, just to let him know that she wouldn't answer, because she didn't have it.

“Dropped it down the stairs,” she sighed, the noises of the hospital loud around her. “I'll have a new one in a day or two, but until then, you won't be able to reach me.”

“I can manage myself for a night or two,” he assured her.

“That's what I'm worried about,” she replied, and he could hear the smile on her lips.

She hung up shortly after, someone shouting for her, and Matt figured everything would be fine.

 

Until he heard whispers of another human trafficking ring making deals at the dock that night, and figured it would be fine to just go down and stop it.

Which it was, until he got tagged in the chest with a knife.

 

He broke up the traffickers and sent the girls for help and slunk home, somewhat embarrassed about how it had gone. It wasn't serious though, and he was fine with patching himself up until he realized the shortness of breath wasn't going away with rest, but was in fact getting worse.

 

That's when he called Foggy, telling him he couldn't call Claire, and that maybe if he could give him a ride over to her place it would be super great.

 

So there he is, waiting for Foggy to show up, when he remembers the last time he felt like this. His first meeting with Claire, the one where she pulled him out of the dumpster and patched him up. Then they threatened a man together. Good times.

Of course, that was after she put a needle in his chest because he'd managed to collapse a lung.

 

This feels an awful lot like that. It sure as hell feels like the last time he collapsed a lung, not that he could remember much of that besides the panic of _can't breathe can't breathe_ running through his head on repeat.

He thinks he might die like this, alone and breathless and terrified when suddenly Foggy is there. Matt's not sure if he was closer than usual or if he'd just lost the time while he focused on not dying.

 

“Matty, what's wrong?”

He's not sure he can find the words, or just the breath to spit them out, not with the way his chest is practically heaving with the effort of simply breathing.

He gestures to his chest and hopes Foggy can see the spot of blood where he's been stabbed. It wasn't the blood that was the issue though, it was the breathing.

“I see it Matt, I see it,” he mutters, yanking Matt's shirt up to expose his skin to the cool air.

“So?” he wheezes.

“I know what to do,” Foggy says. He sounds absolutely shocked.

“Then... do it,” Matt gasps.

Foggy gets to his feet then and runs to the kitchen, rummaging through drawers to find... whatever he needs, Matt has no clue.

“Where's the tape?” he demands.

Matt thinks. Tape. He knows where the tape is.

“First aid kit,” he gasps. He does have one of those. He thought it would be a good idea, considering... well, everything.

Foggy grabs the first aid kit off of the wall and has something else in his other hand by the time he comes back to kneel at Matt's side. He's setting something against Matt's skin that clings, and is tearing tape to hold it down.

 

“It's a flutter valve,” he explains, taping down the final side. “Lets air out, but not in. It should keep you until we get to Claire's. Come on,” he beckons, before heaving Matt up onto his feet.

He's shoved Matt's mask off his face, and has managed to throw a sweater over his shoulders, all without Matt noticing, and by the time they're in Foggy's car, Matt has to admit that it's not getting worse. Not really better, but not worse. So it's good.

 

He fades out a bit before they get to Claire's, but he's definitely awake after she shoves yet another giant needle in his chest.

“You have to stop doing this,” she says, teasing him once she knows he's going to be okay.

Matt really can't argue.

“Thanks... both of you,” he sighs, before drifting off. He doesn't want to be awake to hear the things that Foggy and Claire will be sharing about him.

 


	4. Chapter 4

He's a little worried about the buddy buddy relationship that Claire and Foggy have started, but he just reminds himself that they're both looking out for his safety. Although he's pretty sure his safety isn't their primary concern when they meet up for drinks and talk about him.

But they're both adults, and they're both happy, so Matt really isn't going to make them stop. Why would he?

 

And when Foggy tells him, a little bit hungover after what was apparently an evening of drinking, that Claire taught him how to do stitches, Matt understands it a bit more. Because they're the two people in his life that worry the most about him. (Karen would too, if she knew what he did, but thankfully she doesn't, and he's thankful for that.) So of course they've banded together to create a unified 'rescue Matt from himself' force.

He's not sure what they plan to do with it, but he lets them have it.

 

Claire doesn't answer the next time he calls, which probably means she's at work. So Matt moves onto the second number on his list while pressing gauze as best as he can to the wound on his back.

“What now?” Foggy answers with.

Matt smiles a little, because of course Foggy would just forgo the pleasantries. It was late after all. Or early. “I heard that you've been working on your seamstress skills. Care to test them out?”

“For fucks sake, Matt, you think you could time these a bit better?”

He laughs a little. “Sorry buddy. Evil doesn't rest, and my costume doesn't exactly look that great in the light. Or so I've been told,” he adds wryly. It gets a slight huff out of Foggy, and Matt knows he's won him over.

“I thought you could do stitches,” he comments, but he's getting up and putting clothes on, Matt can hear it.

“It's on my back,” Matt replies. “Very hard to reach. Also, it's hard to stitch when you can't see. I have enough scars already.”

Foggy sighs. “Stop pulling the poor blind man card, Matt. I'm coming okay.”

“I know,” Matt replies, grinning. “I'll leave the door open for you. I'll just lay here and hope it stops bleeding.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Foggy growls.

Matt laughs and hangs up.

 

Foggy's handiwork is unsteady at first, but grows stronger as he progresses along Matt's back, and by the eleventh and final stitch, Matt can tell he has it down.

He even bandages him up afterwards, and Matt thanks him by falling asleep.

 


	5. Chapter 5

He doesn't know how he makes it home, all he knows is that he's there but he needs help.

“Hey, Matty, what'd you do this time?” Foggy answers, laughter in his voice.

“I need help,” Matt replies, and he's afraid, even though he can't remember why.

Foggy's heart rate increases and his tone changes entirely. “Matt, what happened?”

“I need help,” he repeats, and hates the way tears threaten to spring into his eyes. “Will you come?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says immediately. “Sorry Karen, I've got to go,” he adds, more quietly, and Matt knows it isn't directed at him.

The noise in the background quiets, and Matt knows that Foggy has left the bar he was in. “Matty, what's wrong?”

Tears do fill his eyes this time, and he's helpless to stop them. “I don't know,” he whimpers. “I don't remember.”

“What were you doing?”

Memories file though his brain, none of them in order, none of them making any sense. But the fear is definitely present. There's something standing out though. “I think I might have been shot?” he offers, because it makes sense somehow.

“Shit, really? Okay, where? Are you bleeding? Matt, you might have to call an ambulance this time.”

“I'm not bleeding,” he corrects, because it seems like Foggy has the wrong idea. “I was shot, but I'm not bleeding.”

“That doesn't make any sense Matt,” Foggy huffs, and he sounds angry, Matt can hear it in his heart beat and his breathing and the way his muscles tense around the phone.

“I don't know,” he whimpers, and curls around himself on the couch. Everything hurts, and at the same time, he can't localize the pain to anywhere. He's pretty sure he's not bleeding actively anywhere except from a scratch on his knee and a pin prick on his arm, and he doesn't know why he thinks being shot makes so much sense except for that it does.

“Okay Matt, can you tell me what's wrong?”

“I was shot,” Matt says, slowly, because it's making sense now, the pinprick on his arm. “I was shot, but not with a bullet, with a needle. They injected me with something.”

“Shit,” Foggy swears, and Matt hears him swerve around something. “Okay, I'm almost there. Is your door unlocked?”

“I don't know,” Matt says mournfully. He can't remember. He still can't remember how he was shot (injected) or how he got home or even who he was fighting, he just knows that he's afraid and he wants his best friend.

“Okay, it's okay. Can you tell me what New York Penal Law code 35 is? We just did it the other day, remember? Self defense.”

Matt nods. He can do that. “Yeah. Which one? 35.05?”

“Sure, start with that one.”

“Unless otherwise limited by the ensuing provisions of this article... defining justifiable use of physical force, conduct which would otherwise constitute an offense is justifiable-”

“Okay, I'm pulling up now. Keep going.”

“Okay... and not criminal when: 1. Such conduct is required or authorized by law or by a judicial decree...”

Foggy bursting in the door stopped him.

“Okay Matty, I'm here.”

Foggy kneels down in front of him and takes one wrist. To take a pulse probably.

“Where did they get you?” he asks quietly.

Matt still has codes running through his head, and it takes a minute for him to realize Foggy is talking to him.

“Arm,” he says, attempting to pull his shirt off. His arms only get trapped, and it's a few seconds of agonizing sensory blindness before Foggy pulls it over his head and frees him.

He points out the small puncture wound that he can feel in his skin, and Foggy examines it critically. For what, he has no clue.

 

“Do you know what it was?” he asks.

Matt shakes his head. “Drugs?” he offers, because it's his best guess.

“Yeah Matty,” Foggy smiles. “It was probably drugs.”

He pulls the table closer and sits on it, examining Matt critically.

“I can't really do much,” he says finally. “I don't even know how to deal with this. I think the best I've got is just staying with you and making sure nothing happens.”

“Please don't go,” Matt begs, and he's not sure where it came from, but there's a vice grip of fear in his chest at the thought of Foggy leaving him alone.

He reaches out for Foggy's arm, and misses on the first try, but grabs it on the second.

“Please stay,” he repeats.

Foggy slumps a little bit, and nods. “Of course I'll stay. Where's your laptop? We can watch a movie.”

“Bedroom,” Matt mutters, kicking his heavy boots off and pulling his legs up next to him on the couch. “Can we watch something that doesn't have much action?”

Matt can hear the gentle smile in Foggy's voice when he replies. “Of course we can buddy.”

 

Foggy returns from the bedroom with more than just the laptop, he brings Matt pyjamas and warm socks and a blanket to wrap himself in.

The movie starts off with familiar music, and Matt smiles. “Star Trek?” Foggy watched all the classic series while he was in college, and Matt, by virtue of living with him, heard them all.

“Yeah. I haven't seen the movies in a while, and I don't think I ever subjected you to them, so here we are. Wait til we get to the fourth one. Spock talks to a whale.”

Matt's not sure if it's the drugs, but that sounds absolutely hilarious.

 

The hangover from whatever the hell drug it was is brutal in the morning, but with Foggy there to make tea and burn toast while watching classic movies, it's almost worth it.

 


	6. +1

Matt lets himself into his apartment with a sigh of relief. His evening didn't go terribly. Sure, he got a little bit beat up, but he took down two rival gang leaders who had been waging a war right in the middle of Hell's Kitchen. They'd both been delivered to separate police stations just under an hour ago, and it had been a job well done.

He's tired and sore and there's a cut on his side that is making itself known as the adrenaline wears off, but he's content.

It's a nice feeling.

 

He strips his costume off, and probes the wound on his side, hissing with pain as his fingers press a little too roughly. It needs stitches.

Matt grabs his phone from where his costume puddled on the floor, and goes to contacts. Claire is at a wedding, and made it clear to Matt in no uncertain terms that unless he was actually dying, that he should not call her.

Which he wasn't. So that left Foggy, whose sewing skills have improved considerably since the first time he stitched Matt up not too long ago.

 

With one finger over the dial button, Matt reconsiders. Foggy is out on a date with Karen, an actual real one, not one that happened accidentally and ended with an explosion, one that was planned as a legit date with reservations and everything.

And he has been bothering Foggy an awful lot lately, with calls to be picked up or half lucid rants about things from college or him literally crying and begging him not to leave, and the guy deserves a night off.

He considers the wound on his side. It's not that deep. Edges are fairly even. Certainly no worse than the wound he'd stitched up on his father's face all that time ago.

It throbs with a reminder that it is still there and waiting to be attended to, and Matt considers the phone in his hand again.

 

With a degree of finality, Matt puts the phone down and gets up to get the first aid kit instead. After a moment's hesitation, he grabs a bottle of scotch.

He doesn't want his hands to shake while he does the stitches.

 


End file.
